


Attitude Adjustment

by bramletabercrombie



Category: Colbert Report RPF, Fake News RPF, The Daily Show RPF, The Late Show RPF
Genre: Breathplay, First Time, M/M, Rough Sex, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramletabercrombie/pseuds/bramletabercrombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jon has made his pro wrestling debut, and before Stephen takes over The Late Show, Stephen gives Jon a private tour of the renovations to the Ed Sullivan Theater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attitude Adjustment

**Author's Note:**

> For the uninitiated, Jon Stewart's WWE "attitude adjustment" by John Cena: https://youtu.be/XxZCRmfV5fw?t=4m27s

"Thanks again for the tour, Stephen. It really is an insanely beautiful theater, and it's going to be a perfect home for your show."

"Thank you, Jon. But the tour's not over yet—you still haven't seen the best part!"

Jon looked around curiously. Everything about the stage on which they stood gleamed, from the freshly-restored hardwood dais, to the red, white, and blue LED lights framing the cityscape backdrop, to the impeccably polished new desk emblazoned with the Late Show logo. He gazed out into the mezzanine, where hundreds of rows of newly-installed plush seats receded like ocean waves from the stage's shores. He turned his attention above the balcony, up to the scaffolding that latticed the vast ceiling, and squinted into the beams of the countless lighting fixtures that dotted it like stars.

"If this isn't the best part, then what is?"

Stephen grinned and beckoned Jon over to a control panel on the side of the stage. It was comprised of dozens of unlabeled switches and buttons, but Stephen apparently knew exactly what he was doing. He fiddled with the panel for a few moments and then stood back.

A hole opened up in the center of the stage. A section of the hardwood slid aside, revealing a ladder that descended beneath the floor.

"Follow me," Stephen urged with a mischievous smile. He deftly climbed down the ladder and disappeared out of sight. Jon gulped but followed obediently.

He emerged, fifteen feet lower, into a windowless and dimly-lit but comfortable room, filled with cushy couches and armchairs. A monitor was mounted on the wall, and a mini fridge hummed in the corner, several varieties of beer and wine visible through its glass door. Stephen flipped another switch on a simpler wall panel and the hole above them closed smoothly.

"Slick. Is this the green room?"

"Nah, you think we'd make every guest climb that ladder? Carol Burnett is 82 years old! We're not taking on that kind of liability!"

Jon rolled his eyes. "Then what do you want with a random trapdoor leading to a cozy little love shack?"

"Dunno yet exactly," shrugged Stephen unconcernedly, "I just thought it'd be cool!" He pointed to the monitor. "A surprise guest will be able to watch what's happening onstage so they can come in on their cue. And now that you mention it, maybe I should make it a two-way monitor, so I can watch what's on the love shack cam."

"Ahh. I should've known you'd design your studio with the goal of ultimate voyeurism."

Stephen tutted. "No no, I'm an exhibitionist, not a voyeur! And anyway, I prefer to think of it as...surveillance."

"That's right, no thoughtcrime will be tolerated in _your_ autocracy."

"Theocracy," corrected Stephen. "Colbertism isn't a government, it's a religion."

"Deepest apologies, my Lord," bowed Jon humbly. "Could you ever forgive your most fervent disciple?"

"Oh, I would consider it fair penance if you were merely to kiss my feet."

Jon slid mock-reverentially to his knees before Stephen. "Of course, sir." He bent to kiss the air six inches above each of Stephen's shoes, and began to stand back up.

"No, the shoes must be removed first. Go ahead."

Jon glanced up for a second before giggling and playing along. He unlaced and removed each of Stephen's shoes with exaggerated solemnity.

"And the socks."

Jon hesitated again. Stephen looked sternly in character. Jon rolled one sock off Stephen's foot and let it drop to the floor. A shiver flitted across Stephen's face as Jon's hand grazed his foot.

Jon grinned and drew back his hand. "Next lifetime, you sicko," he said, and walked away to sit on one of the couches instead.

The spell broken, Stephen laughed too and collapsed onto an armchair. He removed the second sock and flung it over his shoulder. "Anyway, I really appreciate the support, and I'm glad you were able to come check out the studio before we went live. I'm surprised you can move at all right now, by the way, let alone make it down that ladder, after crossing paths with John Cena the other day. What were you thinking, letting that steroid-enhanced monster body slam you?"

Jon seemed proud of himself, which was a look Stephen seldom saw on him. "When your son looks up to you with those big eyes and asks if you'd please let his favorite pro wrestler fling you over his head in front of thousands of viewers, you just don't say no, you know?"

"It was a very sweet gesture on your part, don't get me wrong. But isn't that dangerous, at your age?"

Jon flipped him the finger.

"And at your bone density? Couldn't your spine have snapped like a twig?"

"We practiced on mats for like an hour, I knew how—"

"And your ethnic background? Your people aren't a physically imposing one, you know—"

"I'll show you physically imposing—"

Jon launched himself off the couch and tipped over Stephen's chair. Stephen fell heavily to the floor but grabbed Jon's ankle and pulled his feet out from under him. They seized each other's collars and grappled and rolled for a few moments, grunting and snorting with laughter at their mutual incompetence. Stephen relaxed and stopped struggling, and Jon followed suit instinctively. "How did you actually do it, though?" Stephen asked.

"I'll teach you—stand up."

They got to their feet and dusted themselves off. Jon brushed ineffectually at his mussed up hair and Stephen set his glasses carefully aside. "I think I can half do it," Jon said, and pulled one of Stephen's arms across his shoulders, then wrapped the other between Stephen's legs and behind his thigh. "I go like this—just catch yourself with your arms—" Jon dropped to a knee and rolled Stephen gently over his back, guiding him down. Stephen was easily able to break his fall, which ended up being only a couple inches off the ground, but rolled around on the floor and moaned piteously just like Jon had in the WWE match.

Stephen's dramatics escalated along with Jon's giggles. "Hrrrghhhhhh—how am I doing?—aaaaarghhhh…"

"Pathetic," Jon assured him, "you're a sorry sight."

Stephen clutched his head in faux agony and his shirt rode up, exposing a few inches of stomach, a light trail of hair.

"Contemptible, utterly worthless," Jon continued, not really listening to himself. "Stop it, you're making me sick."

He surprised both of them by roughly grabbing hold of Stephen's shoulders. Stephen's eyes were wide. "What if I don't want to stop?" he challenged.

"Then I'll make you," Jon said, and slapped Stephen sharply across the face.

Stephen looked stunned. Jon felt guilt surge through him. "Whoa, I'm so sorry, man, I didn't mean—"

"Do that again."

Jon raised his left hand again uncertainly. He automatically took aim for the center of Stephen's cheek. The look in Stephen's eyes was unmistakable. Jon smacked him again, harder. Stephen blinked, held his breath, nodded. Jon struck him again, by far the hardest yet. Stephen exhaled and lay there panting, as color rose in his right cheek.

Jon's heart was beating faster than it had during any of their previous exertions. He felt blood rushing to all kinds of places in his body as he watched Stephen curled helplessly on the floor of his own studio. Without thinking, he climbed over Stephen and straddled his hips. Stephen let out a quiet rumble of a groan, completely unlike the silly hysterics of a minute ago. Jon placed his hands on either side of Stephen's sternum and leaned down into them, feeling the slightly constricted lungs struggling to expand. His hands slid up toward Stephen's neck and he pressed down again experimentally. The hard Adam's apple bobbed as Stephen gulped. Jon's hands slid to the sides of his neck and slowly compressed the arteries visible there.

Jon felt a stirring beneath his groin as Stephen's eyes fluttered shut. Jon fell into a rhythm, breathing exactly in sync with Stephen as he clenched and unclenched, over and over. Stephen coughed suddenly and Jon withdrew his hands as if burned.

"'M fine," Stephen panted. "My _god_..." he added, arching slightly to connect his groin to Jon's.

"What the hell are we doing," mumbled Jon, and they broke eye contact for the first time in several minutes in order to laugh a little awkwardly.

"I don't know, but whatever it is, I want more of it," admitted Stephen.

Cockiness and aggression flared in Jon. "Then I must be going too easy on you." He clambered off Stephen, then flipped him over onto his stomach in a sudden burst of effort, and got back on top. He ground his growing erection firmly against Stephen's ass. He wound a hand into Stephen's hair and shoved his face into the floor, muffling the resulting gasp.

Jon snuck the other hand beneath Stephen's shirt and began scratching insistent circles into his back. He pressed down harder with his short nails and the loops became long slashes, digging deeper into the skin, the red scratches multiplying and intersecting one another, until the entire back was laced with a pattern of crisscrossing lines like the scaffolding in the theater out of sight high above them.

Stephen squirmed against this onslaught of just barely bearable pain. He vaguely heard Jon mutter, "Hold still." His back was on fire but the sensation was too exciting to resist. "Hold still, damn it." His writhing redoubled as he felt Jon lean forward to nip at his ears and sink his teeth into whatever parts of Stephen's neck and shoulders they could reach.

Suddenly all the motion stopped and Jon shifted away. Stephen held his breath for what was coming next.

"I said, hold fucking still."

Stephen bit his lip in his effort to control himself; Jon had just grabbed both his feet and started rubbing and kneading them roughly. Stephen couldn't decide whether it hurt more than it tickled or vice versa. He whined loudly but remained still as Jon increased the intensity of his ministrations.

Jon scratched across the bottom of the foot and Stephen yelped. Jon pinched the toes hard.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

He bent to kiss the sole of one foot, then the other. Stephen shivered at the contact.

"Well done. You've earned your reward."

Still facedown, Stephen heard the sound of a zipper and rustling of fabric. He was rolled roughly over and felt the scratches on his back burn for a brief second before all his attention was directed toward his choking again. Jon had straddled his face and was fucking his throat slowly and carefully, but urgently. Stephen gagged and tried to coax his muscles to relax. Jon paused momentarily, allowing Stephen to swallow, then resumed thrusting, no longer slow or careful. Stephen could hardly breathe. He felt the same lightheaded delirium steal over him; it was ecstasy, but it couldn't go on for much longer. Just as fuzziness started to gather at the edges of his vision, he heard Jon give in, tasted bitterness, and felt the contractions pumping strong down his throat.

Jon pulled away and shifted his weight. For the first time, he brought his lips to Stephen's. The tenderness was a lovely contrast to all the violence that had taken place between them, but Jon ended it with a swift bite for good measure. He gazed at Stephen, who, with his red swollen lip, looked distinctly and thoroughly ravished.

"Well…thanks again for, you know, giving me this tour…it was a lot of fun uncovering the deep, dark secrets of this theater."

"No problem. I'm a sucker for ancient, old, historic, crumbling New York City landmarks. For example—you."

Jon gave Stephen a shove, and they were both fervently glad that there were no surveillance cameras to spy on everything that happened next.


End file.
